


Your Eyes Aren't Rivers There To Weep

by CBlue



Series: 700 Followers/100 songs [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon Compliant If You Squint?, Character Study, Except I actually wrote a frikken happy ending, If you're gonna write your ending as "they dead" at least convince me they're happy in Heaven, M/M, Season Four References, Spotify Wrapped Writing, Tumblr Prompt, i guess, major finale spoilers, pre-series reflection, the major character death is canonical
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-03
Updated: 2020-12-03
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:07:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27853078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CBlue/pseuds/CBlue
Summary: Castiel loves and waits over many years.This is a Tumblr Prompt fill for my 700 Followers/100 songs!
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Series: 700 Followers/100 songs [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2039038
Comments: 2
Kudos: 38





	Your Eyes Aren't Rivers There To Weep

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the lovely [merpancake](https://merpancake.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr as part of my 700 Followers/100 songs! You should [come over here](https://corancoranthemagicalman.tumblr.com/post/636429338315833345/in-celebration-of-hitting-700-followers-and-thank) and send me an ask with a number and a character or pairing to get a writing inspired by a song on my Spotify Wrapped.
> 
> Some quick notes about this work: This work is inspired by _Marbles_ by The Amazing Devil. The first line of this song is "I've held your hand since 1979" which is coincidentally Dean's birth year. I chose the name Ananiel for Anna since Anael is a different character, apparently. Hah.

It was a cold night in January when it began. Castiel recalled the humans had recently marked the year 1979. The evening was an ordinary one save for the birth of one, small child. Crying, the babe called out for his mother. Like most humans, the babe hungered. Humans milled about before affixing the newborn into the arms of a tired but brightly smiling mother.

Castiel approached Ananiel as the Garrison Captain watched in silent awe. It was an emotion unfathomable to Castiel in regards to humans. Ananiel’s fascination with humanity was not something Castiel could grasp, but their order from God was clear. They were to be humanity’s keepers. In this regard, Ananiel’s ever-watchful eye over humanity was something that Castiel _could_ understand.

Even this aside, the birth of the Righteous Man was a sight to behold and witness. Castiel was certain many an angel had paused in their duties to watch on as the Michael Sword drew in his first breath.

“They’re so unassuming, aren’t they?” Ananiel spoke. When Castiel did not respond, Ananiel continued. “He’s so small. Fragile.”

Castiel cast his gaze, watched on as the small babe’s cries silenced at the hushing of his mother. “It is… _difficult_ … to understand that this one will one day become Michael’s sword against Lucifer.”

Ananiel looked displeased at Castiel’s response, turning to face the future Righteous Man. “No, it’s not just that, Castiel.” The Captain furled their body into something smaller, a reflection of the vessels they would have to wear as they walked the Earth. Wordlessly, Castiel followed suit and moved forward with her.

“All of them.” Ananiel’s words were but a whisper. “All of humanity. So small and frail.” The Captain turned their gaze away from Kansas, to Paris, to Istanbul, to Sweden, and to everywhere and nowhere all at once. “Look at them, Castiel. Look at all that they have done on their own.”

But Castiel did not see what Ananiel was gazing upon. Where his Captain saw monuments and civilization Castiel only saw desolation and despair. A people crying out and misguided as they turned away from God. Castiel told Ananiel this, spoke about the heinous atrocities of humanity that he saw reaped and sowed in equal measure. Again Ananiel was displeased.

“Castiel,” Ananiel spoke. “One day you will see.” Ananiel looked upon the Michael Sword once again.

“What will I see?” Castiel inquired as Ananiel knelt from their position over Michael’s True Vessel. They sat beside Ananiel, eyes becoming unsteady as they tried to observe the same things Ananiel did.

Ananiel offered a smile, eyes kept to the small hospital room. “They are God’s greatest Creation.”

Humming, Castiel was not sure that he _could_ dispute that. Their father had ordered Humanity to be their priority. Lucifer had rebelled because Humanity had been loved more. Certainly, God had viewed Humanity as His greatest Creation. Why would Castiel assume differently?

Castiel kept their assumptions to themselves. They did not wish to lessen Ananiel’s view of them. Their Garrison Captain had humored them enough with their lack of understanding. They were still young. Perhaps with age, Castiel would know. For now, they would wait with the hope of understanding one day.

Then it continued in a motel. The year is 2018 and this is where the End begins. Castiel had not wanted to stay beside his brethren as they let Lucifer rise to destroy Humanity. They had been commanded to _protect_ Humanity, God’s favorite Creation. He would continue to do so besides the Winchester brothers.

He wondered if he now understood what Ananiel had meant all those years ago. Watching the Righteous Man, shoulders heavy and eyes dim, Castiel was reminded of the crying child. Only this time, the child did not allow themselves to cry when they needed something. Instead, Dean Winchester held his tongue. He cleaned his gun as Sam Winchester lay sleeping in the opposite bed.

Dean Winchester was… _peculiar_ . He was an enigma wrapped in mystery only to be thrown in the deepest, darkest depths so that his secrets might never see light. But Castiel had _seen_ Dean’s secrets. He had held the man’s very soul in his hands, putting it together piece by piece. He was nothing that Castiel once thought the Michael Sword should have been.

But with that in mind, Dean was _not_ the Michael Sword, was he? He was not the _Righteous Man_ , but a _good man_ . One who was willing to sacrifice everything for his brother and most everything for Humanity. He had fought harder and longer than some of the angels within Castiel’s own Garrison to protect Humanity as God commanded. In this way, perhaps Dean _was_ a soldier of Heaven. A true warrior of God, fighting for His command.

“You should rest.” Castiel finally spoke, watching as Dean continued his meticulous work.

“You should too,” Dean responded as his gaze remained upon his work. His hands were rough, calloused, but handled his weapon with care. A silent duality to an ever curiously crafted man.

Castiel held his words for a moment, thoughts forming and imploding all at once until he could speak. “I do not require rest, Dean.” He spoke eventually, the human voice granted to him by James Novak restrained as he tried to let Sam sleep. Whispering, Dean had referred to it as once. To let humans sleep.

“Well,” Dean sighed, setting aside his tools before beginning to reassemble his weapon. “I guess that means we can just stay up late. Braid each other’s hair and talk about the new High School Musical coming out.”

Furrowing the brow of his human vessel in curiosity, Castiel leaned forward from where he sat at one of the chairs placed by the table. Dean removed his things from atop the bedsheets before meeting his gaze. “I do not think that is what you want, Dean.”

Dean rolled his eyes, standing and taking his things to be placed within his bag. “It’s a _joke_ , Cas.” He huffed. “No one actually cares about _Senior Year_ anyway.” There is a muttering of words that Castiel does not strain himself to understand but Dean turns to face him and continues. “Seriously, go on. You perch on some telephone wire while Sam and I get a few hours.”

Castiel felt annoyance trickle along his very being at the insinuation of birdlike habits. But this was how Dean Winchester communicated. In the same way he referred to Sam as a _bitch_ , he meant _brother_. It was something Castiel was beginning to grow accustomed to.

Standing, Castiel nodded in understanding. Dean did not like to be watched over so closely while resting. Perhaps it was an instinct ingrained into him through his life as a Hunter. “Of course,” he whispered. “Sleep well, Dean.” With an unfurling of his wings that Dean could not see, Castiel cast himself outside of the motel room.

He stared for a moment at the old paint that marked the motel’s wall. He could almost hear Dean sigh, the Righteous Man allowing his shoulders to sag now that there was no appearance to keep up. Dean Winchester would staple a steel bar to his back if such a thing were possible and if it were viable for keeping his posture upright when facing anyone, kin or not.

It was… _admirable_ , Castiel considered. That Dean Winchester would not allow himself to be viewed as vulnerable. He had been charged to watch over his brother much like Castiel had been charged with watching over Dean. It was… _familiar_ , in an oddly disturbing way. That Castiel could see so much of himself within Dean. When first touching Dean’s soul, Castiel had assumed this was because Dean himself was like an angel. Now, though, Castiel could not help but wonder if it were because _he_ was like a _human_.

He could remember Ananiel’s fall too freshly. Turning to face away from the motel, Castiel could do nothing but wait and hope that they could defeat Lucifer. That he would not stray as Ananiel did.

In Heaven, while the Earth has reached its year of 2020, so much has changed. An aching amount of years had passed with much too much love and pain chained along with those years. Castiel watched and waited, hope catching in his throat. Perhaps, now with Chuck finally defeated and Jack residing over Heaven as God, the Winchesters could rest. They could find peace.

Castiel rubbed at the place over his chest where his heart resided. _His_ chest, he considered it, as it had been a long time since he considered his body a _vessel_. There was a beautiful sort of ache knowing that someone you loved would finally get to achieve their happiness. Perhaps this is what Anna had meant all those years ago. Perhaps she too had seen the man that Dean Winchester would become, or the hope of the man he could be. Or perhaps she had no idea whatsoever what it meant to fall in love with a human.

Jack turned from the board he had been staring at blankly. Castiel had no clue as to where the young God’s gaze had turned, but he welcomed him back with a warm smile. Jack, however, greeted his smile with something small and bittersweet.

Furrowing his brow, Castiel placed his hand on Jack’s shoulder. “What is it?” He asked softly. Had already there begun a war to fight? Was there no time for rest as Heaven had been recrafted and Humanity given their Free Will?

“It’s Dean,” Jack spoke gently. “He’s… here.” His words eventually drew out from him, reaching Castiel’s grace and morphing his hesitant spirit into one of sorrow. Already Dean Winchester was dead, resigned to Heaven when there was still a full life on Earth to have been had for him.

“Oh,” Castiel let out in a breath. He felt Heaven spin around him, vision swirling until he was forced to take a seat. Jack followed him, arms reaching out but withheld as not to touch Castiel. “Dean Winchester is…”

“Dead.” Jack nodded as that bittersweet smile remained. “Yes. He’s at the Roadhouse with Bobby Singer now.”

Castiel swallowed heavily. The thought that Dean was being greeted by a familiar and warm face was a soothing balm to the gaping wound left in his heart. “That’s good.” His throat felt constricted around his words. With these thoughts, he could understand the bittersweetness to Jack’s smile. Perhaps this _was_ how Dean Winchester found his peace and true rest. It was _unfair_ , certainly, that Dean should pass so young and not see his peace out on Earth. It was almost _cruel_ when Dean wanted nothing more than a _family_ . Then a _home_.

Jack smiled then, inhaling a deep breath and transforming his expression. “Time passes differently here, doesn’t it?” He contemplated after the long silence. “I mean, I see everything all at once and yet I experience things in both Heaven and Earth.”

“I… suppose.” Castiel bobbed his head for a moment, folding his hands to rest on his lap. “When I was in Heaven, before all of… _everything_ … there were moments of time that would pass that to the Winchesters was months, or sometimes the reverse was true. And I would be fighting for months and have only been gone a few minutes.”

There was understanding, soft like a new dawn, across Jack’s face. “He’s here now too. Sam, I mean.”

Releasing the breath that he had not known he was holding, Castiel smiled. “Good.” He spoke genuinely with his throat less dry and his words less hollow. “Now he can have peace.”

Jack furrowed his brow, blinking in something akin to surprise at Castiel’s words. “No.” His words were firm but gentle, reminding Castiel of the displeasure Anna had displayed to him many lifetimes ago. “He doesn’t have everything to complete his Heaven yet.”

Castiel could remember watching Dean rake leaves. Waiting with a silent hope that somehow Dean would _see him_ , despite hiding himself from Dean’s gaze. He could remember avoiding Dean’s presence in Purgatory with the blind hope that waiting his time would _save Dean_ . He could remember Naomi and the tablets and countless other things that had left Castiel _waiting_ and _hoping_.

He could wait and hope for this too. For Dean’s happiness. Perhaps in that short time before his arrival in Heaven - had it been short at all? - Dean _had_ lived something of a life, had met someone. There was a hope that all Dean would have to do was _wait_ and he could have his peace.

“He’s waiting.” Jack’s voice rang out, resonating within Castiel’s grace. Once a meager captain, once a seraph, now an archangel for Jack’s reign as God, Castiel could equate his grace to a _soul_. The very core of his being despite how much it had been rebuilt and replaced to keep him alive, to keep him powered.

“How much longer will he have to wait?” Castiel asked, fearful of the answer but desperate for it all the same.

Smiling, Jack took the seat across from Castiel and mirrored the templing of his hands. “Soon.” He answered instead. “Did you know that when you rebuilt Dean’s soul you stitched him together with your grace?”

Confused, Castiel slowly nodded. “Yes, but…” he cut his words short, furrowing his brow as he tried to puzzle Jack’s words. “But Dean’s soul and my grace are not what they once were.”

“No,” Jack agreed, tilting his head and gathering his thoughts in a single breath. “No, you aren’t the same. Except you are. You’ve… grown, I suppose. But at your hearts, you’re the same.”

Castiel could concur to that, thinking on how they had not changed. They had continued in their patterns until their deaths. The only thing that had differed in their twelve years of kinship was Castiel’s deathbed confession. He grimaced at the thought, thinking of the weight he must have placed upon Dean’s shoulders, knowing that his love for the man had been what sentenced Castiel to death. Yet Castiel could not regret any actions that might have spared Dean.

Suddenly, Castiel heard a faint voice. It was quieter than a songbird’s first tune but thrice as precious. Dean Winchester’s voice called out, a silent prayer, a calling of longing. Castiel’s eyes widened and yet Jack looked as if he had been expecting this.

“You didn’t forget where you placed your marbles, did you?” He teased, a smile bright stretching his face into something that felt close to Heaven in Castiel’s heart.

“No,” Castiel answered without hesitation. Dean’s longing called again, asking for Castiel. “But…”

Jack laughed, standing and placing his hands on Castiel’s shoulders. “Go find out where Dean Winchester placed his marbles.” He winked and released his grip on Castiel before turning back to the board they had been working over. “I’ll be here when you’re done.” Jack grinned. “Think of it like a 9 to 5 for God.”

Huffing a surprised laugh, Castiel stood. His hands shook and his knees felt weak. “I’ll… see you soon.” He promised, unfurling his wings and stretching his form before taking flight.

It continued like this. Castiel was in Heaven, staring at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. The blue eyes contained within his body reminded him of the river not far from the cabin. The lines on his face reminded him of crow’s feet as he smiled. The hair atop his head was askew from a good night’s rest before, sleeping heavily with content in a large room on a large bed.

Arms, warm, wrapped around his waist. Dean’s chin rested atop his shoulder and a green gaze met his own in the reflection. “Mornin’, sunshine,” Dean mumbled, smiling sleepily to which Castiel could do not much more than return it.

“Good morning, Dean.” Castiel rumbled, felt his happiness roll out from him like thunder, before turning in Dean’s arms to run his fingers through golden hair. “What are we going to do today?”

Dean hummed, closing his eyes and resting his forehead against Castiel’s own. He peered one eye open carefully to catch Castiel’s before closing it again with a smile. “How about you and I go to the lake.” He offered a breathy chuckle. “Off by the pier. Just you and me.” A sharp nose ran gently across Castiel’s cheek, a kiss of skin as Dean tightened his arms around Castiel’s waist.

“That sounds wonderful,” Castiel murmured, closing his eyes and inhaling sharply this scent of familiarity in their shared bathroom.

“Good.” Dean drew back with a smile but not before placing a soft kiss to the corner of Castiel’s mouth. “I’ve got a good feeling about today.”

Offering a blinding smile, Castiel threaded his fingers through Dean’s hair. “Me too.”

**Author's Note:**

> Check out the rebloggable version [right here 🌻](https://corancoranthemagicalman.tumblr.com/post/636454704547840000/idk-how-prompts-worki-pick-number-12-with)


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